Noxus, Now and Forever?
by bhaall
Summary: Masriel owes everything to the House of Du Couteau, but General Du Couteau has been missing. Luxanna has spent her entire life memorizing the Measured Tread and doing her best to be a good citizen of Demacia, only to feel abandoned. What happens when a brash, passionate young boy collides with a beautiful, lonely girl of completely different beliefs? Well, you can guess.
1. Chapter 1: A Beginning

I'm not a fantastic writer, and I've never tried writing fanfiction. I am, however, an avid reader and have read plenty of all of your stories. I wanted to write about a world where morality wasn't black and white, and Noxian isn't synonymous with evil asshole. I also wanted to try to write my own character who isn't a Marty Stu. This story will follow Masriel, an OC character from Noxus and his interactions with various factions and champions. The other main character in the story will be Lux, the Lady of Luminosity. We'll see how I do. I would of course appreciate reviews and criticism. There will be smut in this story, and there might be all sorts of other things that will probably make it deserve the M rating. I will do my best to use good writing, but I will not censor the content! Without further ado, Noxus, Now and Forever.

* * *

"I'm sick of waiting."

Masriel paced back and forth. He was furious and more importantly, he was tired. He was here, with Katarina and Talon, and General Du Couteau was not. Katarina responded quietly.

"I'm quite certain I have as much cause to miss my father as you do."

"Then why are we here? He can't have just disappeared; he must be somewhere."

"You know that Talon and I do not have the time to go ourselves because of the League. You know we no longer have the resources to send a search party. You know it's far too dangerous to go alone. We must wait until the situation changes."

Masriel sighed, and sat down at the table. General Du Couteau had become a father to him. He would never forget the day that he first came to be another ward of the famous House of Du Couteau. He was nothing before then, born of a Noxian peasant woman who was raped by a Demacian soldier during the war. Talon stood up and walked over to Masriel.

"Masriel, believe me, I owe everything to General Du Couteau as well. I'm afraid of what will happen to the House without him; I'm afraid of what will happen to Noxus without him. As soon as the League gives me the reprieve I requested, I promise you, we will find him."

Masriel nodded solemnly, slightly comforted by the knowledge that the waiting would soon end. Noxus was a different place without the General. All three of them knew that it was likely that he was not even alive. Jericho Swain did not like having powerful competitors. General Du Couteau disappears, and shortly after, Keiran Darkwill is executed. But no, the General would have a plan. He always did. Katarina sighed and stood up.

"You know Swain will never let you have that reprieve. As the Grand General of Noxus, he decides when to give the Noxian champions a reprieve, and he has nothing to gain from us going to look for my father. Either he had something to do with it, and he wouldn't want us and the rest of Noxus to find out, or he had nothing to do with it, and the last thing he wants is a triumphant return to challenge his rule."

Masriel stood, examining Katarina and Talon, those who had been his siblings where he had none, and so much more. He hated to leave them, but he was not defenseless. He was not as strong as a League champion, but he also did not have to deal with the leash.

"You're right, of course. We've had this conversation half a million times and every time before, I've let you tell me it's too dangerous. But we are Noxians. We are forged in fire, or we are destroyed by it. I must prove I am worthy of the House, of the General. I will find him, or I will die trying."

Katarina reacted violently. She stormed over to him shoved Masriel violently. He tumbled over his chair and fell to the ground.

"You are a stupid boy; don't pretend you are strong enough to do this. Don't let some misguided pride let you get yourself killed. No one doubts your strength, and no one doubts your loyalty. But none of us could do this alone. I won't let you throw your life away."

Masriel stood up slowly. Masriel typically wore a sword. He could fight with it, in fact, compared to the average man, he could fight quite well with it, but that is not where his power lay. Even though he had been training all his life with the sword, that is not why General Du Couteau took him in. Right now though, in the comfort of his own home, he was not wearing a sword. However, he would never be left defenseless, and he reached into his sleeve and pulled his knife out of the sheath that he kept tied to his forearm in case he needed it.

Katarina, eyes wide, breathing heavily, still obviously angry and impassioned, was without her regular weapons as well. Masriel knew she kept more knives hidden amongst her clothing than he could possibly count or imagine. He hoped it would not come to that.

Masriel drew his knife along his wrist, and felt his power awaken, call to him, waiting to be seized. As he reached out to that familiar place, he could have moaned from the pleasure, and vomited from the discomfort at the same time. He loved and hated his power. So sweet, yet so disgusting. When General Du Couteau asked how it could be both, he remembered likening it to drinking low quality whiskey. Of course, General Du Couteau had probably never had low quality whiskey, but that was another matter.

Masriel's eyes glowed red, and his voice took on a quality that the General described as unhuman: almost musical and baritone. Talon started moving as soon as he started moving the knife. Masriel knew, or at least hoped, he had nothing to fear from his siblings.

"I must leave, Katarina. I am sorry, but if you wish me to stay, you will have to kill me. I see no other option. Swain will destroy Noxus, and General Du Couteau is the only one who can stop him, and I am the only one who can find the General. I will leave, or I will die."

By this point, Talon was in between Katarina and Masriel. Unlike the other two, he was not sure if Talon ever removed his blade. He wondered if Talon really had it in him to kill him. He must. They are wards of the House of Du Couteau, sworn to protect it. Katarina was a member of the House. Talon must do his duty, just like he must do his. He knew he could not defeat both of them, but for the good of the House, and for the good of Noxus, he would try, if they forced him.

Katarina started laughing dryly. She spoke with all of the venom of an adder.

"Look at us, the remnants of the once great House of Du Couteau poised to kill each other over how best to restore us to glory. I won't kill you Masriel, but I might as well, for you seem determined to get yourself killed. I am going to bed."

Katarina tried to hide it by laughing, but Masriel could tell she was furious. Furious and afraid. For him, or of him, he wondered. Maybe both. She stomped off to bed.

Masriel's eyes returned to normal. He was still breathing heavily, still clutching his knife. As the adrenaline and his power left him, he wanted to cry. Not because his power leaving him left him so miserable, but because of what he just resolved to do. He, of course, would never show such a weakness in front of his siblings. They are Noxians. They do not show weakness.

Talon scowled. Talon was his brother, but Katarina was Talon's sister, and it was to her father he owed his loyalty. He could not fault Talon for being angry with him after threatening his sister in their own house. Talon spoke softly, however.

"If you ever threaten Katarina like that again, I will kill you"

"I know, brother."

"No, you don't. You have absolutely no idea the pain it is to die. To feel the complete agony of your very soul seeping out of your body. I do not wish it on anyone, least of all you, but I have sworn my oath to the House, and I intend to keep it."

Masriel merely nodded. It was funny how the champions of the League are portrayed as celebrities, living a glamorous lifestyle. He knew from living with two of them that nothing could be further from the truth. Fighting, killing, dying, only to reborn to have to fight, kill, and die again. The lack of freedom due all of the rules, having to be available for summoning every hour of every day, and that isn't even mentioning the leash. The leash terrified Masriel. The idea of someone being able to take control of you at any point, and if you resist, to incapacitate you. How could anyone trust the summoners with that kind of power over them? The General's voice echoed in his head.

"Someday, you will be a champion of the League. You will represent Noxus and our House. You will bring us glory."

He remembered beaming with pride that the General had so much confidence in him. He did not know at the time that the League was nothing but a gilded cage. It did not matter. He would do what he must to bring glory to the General and to Noxus.

Talon had started walking up to bed. He turned as he reached the stairs.

"Good night, Masriel, and good luck. You will need it."

Masriel sighed, and finally sheathed his knife, and took out his handkerchief to stem the bleeding in his arm. He of course did not draw that much blood. If the fighting started in earnest, he was quite certain there would be plenty of blood available. The Sinister Blade and the Blade's Shadow indeed. He wondered what that would make him, if he ever became a League champion. The Blade's Pet Mage? He would worry about that when the time came. For now, it was time to get some rest.


	2. Chapter 2: Memories

Thanks for the review! I was trying to address issues of backstory and detail as seamlessly as possible, so not all of them made it into the first chapter. Cassiopeia will probably be included. I noticed I had a few typos/awkward wording in the first chapter. I fixed some of it and will try to proofread more carefully.

* * *

Masriel stared back at himself in the mirror as he washed his face. He had a short, well-kept for beard and medium-length dark hair. His eyes were a cold, ice blue, except of course when he seized his power. He of course could never forget when General Du Couteau first saw him use his magic.

"The Sinuisar." He said, eyes wide. "There hasn't been someone capable of entering the Sinuisar in hundreds of years."

He sighed. He missed General Du Couteau. The General knew something of his power, though he knew not what. He did not seem to truly understand it, but he helped him grow so much in strength. The General taught him of control, patience, and justice. It seemed with every lesson he would gain further mastery of the Sinuisar. Heh, the Sinuisar. Before the General, he simply called it the Blood Trance; it seemed an apt enough name. He could not explain the source of his magic: as far as he knew, his father was just a regular in the Demacian military, and his mother was a simple newlywed housewife whose husband died at his father's hands. Might makes right in Demacia too; they just try to justify it with misguided virtues.

He knew what powered his magic though: blood. His blood, his enemies' blood, his friends' blood, it didn't matter. So long as he was in contact with it, he could use it to cast his spells. The more blood he spilled, the more he could use to cast his spells. The more powerful his spells became. The more out of control his lust for further bloodshed became. The General taught him how to control that lust while maximizing the amount of blood that was spilled.

The first time he entered the Sinuisar, the first time he killed someone, he could still remember the sickly sweet sensation. He had not had any training with magic by this point, and he was barely a novice at swordsmanship: practicing with wasters with the other kids. He had a pocket knife, a tiny little blade that should not have been able to kill a rodent. He could still remember the man. He could still remember the day. It was the day his mother died.

He had been with his mother for the first twelve years of his life, and now, only eight years later, he barely remembered her. She was kind to him. She fed him, she clothed him, and when he asked for a sword for his birthday, she gave him that little knife. He was furious with her at the time of course, but now, he could not even picture her face. How could he? That felt like a lifetime ago. He could remember her screams though.

They were in the inn where his mother worked as a serving girl. She was still considered pretty by most, but being a widow with a half-Demacian bastard made it impossible for her to ever remarry. It was a popular enough story, and soon, his mother developed a bad reputation as a whore who slept with Demacians.

She was at work when the the soldiers came. At first they were nothing out of the ordinary for Noxian soldiers, loud, slightly obnoxious, belligerent, rude, but again, nothing out of the ordinary. That was, until they saw Masriel.

He did not know what made the realization trigger in their heads, but suddenly one of the soldiers shouted "Hey, you're that slut with the half-Demacian kid!"

"My child is half-Demacian, yes," his mother responded tactfully.

"We heard you'll open your legs to anyone, and you don't even charge!"

"No, I –"

"Well my boys and I here could use a good fucking."

"Sir, please, I – "

"Oh, so some Demacian was good enough for you but not the Noxian military who fights to protect you?"

His mother was in tears by this point.

"Please sir, that's not how it happened."

"Ha, you whores will tell it however it suits you. Innkeep, give us some privacy. Let's have some fun boys."

That is when things started to get hectic. The innkeeper cowered and ran out, along with everyone else in the inn besides Masriel, his mother, and the soldiers. He would rather not remember the things that happened to his mother in front of his eyes, but they were burned into his memory.

He sat there, transfixed, watching one man take each side of her and lay her on the table, pinning her arms and holding her legs apart. He did not remember when his tiny little knife came into his hand, but he clutched it with a death grip. Waiting for the opportunity to strike back at these men.

He waited as one man unbuckled his pants and took his manhood out. He waited as the man told his mother to shut up, and slapped her. He waited as the two men holding her down fondled her breasts. He waited as the man whose turn it was penetrated her, and slapped his mother again when she cried out. He waited as his mother's loud screams and struggles eventually diminished into silent tears and acceptance. He waited as the first man finished, and put his pants back on. He waited as he walked over to him, crouched near him, and said, noticing his knife, that he and his friends will get him a real sword once they were finished with his slut mother. Then he was tired of waiting.

Masriel drove his tiny knife into the man's neck, and he was lucky enough to hit the jugular. Blood sprayed all over him. The soldier fell to the ground, surprised and confused, trying vainly to stop the bleeding. Masriel kept stabbing him all over his body until the soldier's thrashing stopped. A dark gift awakened inside of the boy, relishing in the blood; relishing in death.

The soldiers who had not had their turn yet were already irritable from having to wait. One drew his sword, and spoke.

"Let's kill the bitch, kill the brat, and leave. That idiot got his due. Trying to make friends with the whore's son instead of letting us have our turn."

He started walking toward Masriel when Masriel first could sense the glow in his mind. He reached out for it, touched his power for the first time. The experience made him vomit. He heard his mother's tears stop as the other man ran her through.

"Weak stomach. That is because you're only half Noxian. A true Noxian would have reveled in his first kill."

When Masriel looked up, his eyes were glowing red. He felt nothing but rage and a desire to hurt these people who were going to hurt him.

"Oh, maybe you're just sick. I guess it's time to put you out of your misery."

Masriel would like to pretend that all of that waiting was carefully planned strategy, but in truth, he was terrified of those men. He had no idea what he could do to help, and when he finally did act, it was on instinct. He had no idea how to kill a man, and he had no idea how to control magic. But he did both of those things that day.

Fire poured from his fingertips. Not thin efficient streams, like he used today, or condensed balls, like seem to be so popular among so many mages. No, this was a slow fan of flame that extended outward, determined to consume everything. The man in front of him caught fire and started screaming, and the other man saw what was happening and ran. The man who killed his mother.

Memories. Masriel sighed and shook his head. He needed to stay focused. The soldier who killed his mother was of no consequence: his mother should have had more protection than a weak innkeeper who clearly did not care if his employees lived or died. It was not the soldier's fault he was able to exert his strength. It was the innkeeper's for not protecting his assets. He had his vengeance on the innkeeper. He had his vengeance on that entire weak-willed town. They were not true Noxians. True Noxians would have fought to protect their own. He had had enough memories for one night.

He could pack in the morning. He would not need to bring much, and the more he brought, the more likely it was to bring suspicion down on himself and the House. He trundled off to bed. He had had enough memories for one lifetime.


End file.
